Chapter 4
Victor stared at her for five seconds. Then a cold laugh slipped out.
It wasn't a friendly laugh. It was the kind of laugh that clearly said, "Is she serious right now?"
"Fine. If you want to make a scene, go ahead," Victor said, picking up the pen holder she'd knocked over and putting the pens back one by one. "When you're done, we're going home."
"I'm not making a scene—" Maeve protested.
"Maeve." Victor cut her off, turning around, his gaze icy. "After the divorce, where do you think you'll go? Who's going to pay your dad's medical bills?
"Who's going to cover your brother's tuition? You make 2,700 dollars a month. Do you really think you can even support yourself?"
Every word felt like a nail hammered into her foot.
Maeve pressed her lips together so tightly they turned white.
Victor walked over, his tone softening. He draped an arm around her shoulders, his voice turning soft and soothing, like he was coaxing a skittish cat.
"Listen, don't worry about any of that. I'll handle everything. You're my wife, and that won't ever change," he said.
Maeve stood rigid in his arms, her body stiff.
She didn't mention divorce again.
It wasn't because his words had soothed her. It was because he was right. She really had nowhere to turn.
*****
That was two years ago.
That night, when Maeve got home, she soaked in the bathtub for two hours. The water turned icy, but she didn't budge.
She stared up at the ceiling.
Only one sentence kept replaying in her head. "After the divorce, where do you think you'll go?"
'Where could I even go?' Maeve thought. She honestly had no idea.
Maeve had always been a straight-A student. She majored in foreign languages in college, and after graduation, she got a job as a translator at a mid-level trading firm.
With a monthly salary of 2,700 dollars, she was barely making ends meet in this city.
She married Victor after being set up on a blind date by a college friend. She wasn't some rich heiress. Her family ran a small supermarket, and she couldn't be more ordinary.
Victor spent six months courting her, bombarding her with flowers and gifts, picking her up and dropping her off every day. She really thought that was love.
The first year of marriage was pure bliss. Victor treated Maeve like a princess, and she quit her job to be a full-time housewife. Her days were filled with arranging flowers, cooking, and waiting for him to come home.
But by the second year, Victor started getting busier. He was out at business dinners more and more, and he came home later and later.
Then, in the third year, Kayla showed up.
By then, Maeve had been out of the workforce for three years. She had no savings, no connections, and she didn't even know how to update her resume anymore.
Her dad had been diagnosed with cirrhosis two years ago, and Victor was the one covering his monthly medical bills. Her brother was studying abroad, and Victor was paying for his tuition and living expenses, too.
She was like a vine, her entire existence wrapped around Victor. If she ever got pulled away from him, she'd have nothing left.
Maeve sat in the icy water, her teeth chattering. She buried her head in her knees.
"Three years," she said to herself.
Her voice was so soft, it was almost swallowed up by the bathroom's echo.
"Give me three years," she murmured.
After that day, Maeve stopped fighting.
Instead, she started working on something else.
In the first month, she updated her resume and applied to twenty-seven jobs.
No one replied. Not a single response.
Three years as a housewife were like a black hole on her resume.
In her second month, Maeve enrolled in an online translation course and earned a level 2 professional translation certificate.
By the third month, a small cross-border e-commerce company finally offered her a job. The salary was 2,200 dollars a month.
It was less than what she used to make three years ago.
Maeve took it.
She told Victor, "I'm getting stir-crazy at home, so I want to pick up a job."
Victor nodded, not even bothering to ask where she was working.
During that time, Victor was hardly ever home. When he did show up, he'd be reeking of some other woman's perfume and would collapse into bed without a word. Maeve would lie next to him, staring at the ceiling until dawn.
But she didn't make a scene anymore.
She worked a regular job during the day and hit the books at night. She earned her advanced business Belvarian certificate, then nailed the Terenese exam.
On top of that, she started picking up some freelance translation side hustles.
Her income climbed from 2,200 dollars to 2,700 dollars, and before she knew it, she was making four thousand dollars a month.
By the eighth month, she landed a job at a bigger multinational company, and her salary doubled.
No one noticed any of these changes.
Victor didn't care. Kayla had no clue. Everyone still thought Maeve was just the dependent little wife in the Boyle household.
That was exactly what she wanted.
*****
Maeve found Rudy online.
She was forty-five, and in the divorce world, people called him "the Razor." She handled infidelity cases exclusively and boasted a 92% win rate.
When Maeve first met Rudy, she laid out all the evidence on the table.
She had screenshots of chat logs, transfer records, property purchase receipts, and hotel bills.
Rudy flipped through the files for ten minutes, then took off his glasses and looked at her.
"Ms. Norman, with the evidence you've got, you've got a solid shot at divorce and a fair split of the assets. Why not go for it now?" she asked.
Maeve shook her head.
"No, not now," Maeve replied.
"Why not?"
"Because he hasn't made the one mistake I can't forgive."
Rudy raised an eyebrow. "What are you waiting for?"
Maeve didn't answer right away. She stared out the window, watching the city skyline. Those glass towers flashed cold in the sunlight.
"Ms. Mills, I know Victor. He's all about reputation. As long as we're still married, he'll make sure I look respectable. I'll have the villa, he'll pay for everything I need, and he'll play the perfect husband," Maeve said.